The Terbuf Affair Act I Redux
by alynwa
Summary: Written for the Song Story Challenge on LJ. The prompt is "I Still Love You Anyway" by Buddy Miles. This is how I wanted the first act to be.


The two men had been spending a leisurely afternoon touring Rome. It was the fourth day of their vacation granted to them by the Old Man for a job well done. They had mutually agreed not to visit the Spanish Steps and St. Peter's Square, opting for lesser known but still popular attractions like the Piazza Navona and the Roman Forum. In addition to soaking up the local culture, they had been eating their way across the city and were, in fact, searching for a place Napoleon swore made the best veal parmigiana on the planet.

"It's a good thing we're doing all this walking, Tovarisch. I think my pants are getting a little tight in the waist!"

Illya snorted his amusement. "It is different to walk around this place as opposed to running through it dodging bullets. I will make sure you run on the treadmill daily when we return to New York." When he didn't get a response, he turned to look at his companion who was staring across the street at a woman who waved her hand and began to approach. His partner looked like he had seen a ghost. Alarmed, he stepped closer and put his hand behind his back within reach of the gun holstered there. "Napoleon? What is it? Who is she?" he whispered.

"Napoleon, it's really you!" the woman said as a broad smile spread across her face. She stepped up onto the sidewalk and wrapped her arms around him. After a second's hesitation, he returned the embrace, causing Illya, who had been prepared to shoot her, to relax slightly. "I've been looking for you. How have you been?" she asked as she released him and looked him up and down. "You look well."

"You were looking for me? How did you know I was in Italy?"

"I called your apartment in New York and they told me you were vacationing here."

Illya had never seen his partner look so flummoxed and off – balance. Napoleon stood staring at the woman until Illya said, "By the way, I am Illya Nicovetch Kuryakin."

Napoleon startled and said, "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. This is Clara Richards. We once were…very good friends."

Illya's mind blinked. _Clara? _He glanced at Napoleon. _The Clara you told me about?_ his eyes asked as clearly as if he had spoken aloud. When Napoleon nodded once, he gently shook the woman's hand. "A pleasure," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Illya." She turned her attention back to the taller man. "Could we go someplace to have a drink and talk?" Her eyes shifted to Illya momentarily. "Privately?"

Napoleon folded his arms across his chest. "I don't think that's a good idea, Clara."

"Napoleon, please! I need your help!"

"I heard you had gotten married. You haven't seen me in seven years, how can you possibly need my help?"

"There's a small café on the corner. Can we please go there to talk?"

Illya cleared his throat. "Perhaps you should, Napoleon. I can meet up with you later."

"Fine, we can go, but Illya is coming with us. Anything you want to discuss with me you can discuss in front of him."

Clara sighed, she knew she couldn't win. Knowing the enormity of what she was about to ask, she smiled at Illya and said, "Of course," and led the way to the small bistro and walked to a booth in the rear. She slid in followed by Illya while Napoleon sat opposite them both.

Without preamble Napoleon asked, "What do you want from me?"

"Wow. No small talk at all, huh?" When she was met with silence she said, "There is a Gypsy man in Terbuf, Emil, who has absolute proof of all the crimes committed by Colonel Morisco to line his own pockets while he's been the country's leader. Morisco knows Emil has this proof and his secret army of agents is hunting him like a wild animal. I've been trying to help him escape. His agents are everywhere; even here, that's why I couldn't bring the documents out of the country."

"What about your husband? He's not capable?"

"Stefan is very capable, Napoleon, but not in matters such as this. A long time ago, your work drove us apart. Now, it's brought me back to you. Please help me."

He leaned back in his seat and rested his head on the back of the booth as he thought. Sighing heavily, he lowered his head to look at her. "Go back home to Terbuf. Wait for me there."

"We are due back in America the day after tomorrow," Illya reminded him.

"Tell Mr. Waverly I missed the plane."

"We'll send him a telegram; I have a feeling you are going to need me."

Illya slid out of the booth to allow Clara to exit. Before she left, she touched her index finger first to her lips and then Napoleon's. "Thank you."

They watched her go. "You are definitely going to need me," Illya said. "Are we leaving tonight?"

Napoleon swiped his hand across his face and smiled sadly at his partner. "No. Tonight I plan to get drunk."

Hours later found the two men in their shared hotel room each with a drink in hand. The Russian was watching his partner closely with eyes full of concern. "You need to take care how much scotch you are imbibing, Napoleon. You barely touched your dinner even though you were right when you told me how wonderful the veal parmigiana is at that restaurant."

"That's alright, Tovarisch. You ate enough for the two of us." He refilled his drink from the bottle of single malt Room Service had delivered. "Are you going to ask me?"

Illya's brow furrowed. "Ask you what?"

Napoleon took a swig of his drink. "Aren't you going to ask me why I told Clara I would go to Terbuf?"

"I have to admit that I am curious. You told me that Clara broke your heart when she left you. She obviously has moved on since she is married. I do not wish to see you heartbroken, moy brot, but I fear that will be the outcome. Where does she stand with you and where do you want her to be in your life?"

The brunet stood up, albeit shakily, and walked over to the window to look out on the Roman night. The city glistened below his window as he leaned an elbow against the wall and sipped the liquor at the end of that arm. "Clara was the first woman I loved since my wife died," he said, back still to Illya. "I loved her, but I was determined to become CEA and I couldn't give up my job. My calling. Not even for Clara." He straightened up off the wall, but still didn't turn to face his partner. "I still love her anyway. I didn't realize that I had never stopped loving her until I saw her this afternoon. Part of me, hell, maybe _all_ of me wants her back, but I know it's no use. It's no use."

He sounded so forlorn, Illya's heart ached for him. He stood and went to Napoleon's side and put his arm around the man's shoulders. "Tomorrow we will go to Terbuf, smuggle this Emil out of the country…"

"And then Clara will go back to her life with her husband and we'll head home to our empty apartments and lives," Napoleon finished. He drained his glass and Illya took it and placed it on the shelf next to the window to signal he was cutting him off.

Illya turned and pulled the taller man into a hug. Rubbing his back he said, "Our lives are not empty, moy brot, not as long as we have each other and a cause to fight for." He broke the embrace and gently pushed Napoleon towards his bed. "Time for bed if we are to get into Terbuf early." He watched as the CEA stripped off his clothes and hung them up, grinning inwardly that drunk as he knew the man to be, he still took time to do so.

Only when Napoleon had tucked himself in and closed his eyes did Illya disrobe, tossing his things across a chair so they wouldn't be too wrinkled. He got into his bed and turned off the lamp on the nightstand between the beds. _When we return to New York, I am going to find out who broke protocol and informed Clara where to find Napoleon and have her transferred to Antarctica!_


End file.
